


Aquila

by BlooLion



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, idk hahahaaaaa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 13:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8492062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlooLion/pseuds/BlooLion
Summary: ~ tags subject to change as the story progressesKeith's story, and Lance's, in a canon divergence Klance AU





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to vldlancelove on tumblr for betaing!
> 
> This is my first fic for the fandom, and first piece in a while - constructive criticism always welcomed :)

Keith squeezed his eyes shut under the bed, attempting to will his heaving chest to still. He was dizzy with fear, and prayed to anyone who was listening that the wheeze of his ragged breaths was audible only to him. Outside the sanctuary of his bed skirt, Keith heard the distinct click of a pair of di Bianco bluchers on the hardwood floor of the bedroom hallway. His room’s door was wide open, but no light shone through.

From down the hall came floating faint voices: his mother’s tremulous, words undiscernible; the low, rumbly timbre of his father; a third Keith could not place, quiet and severe. He heard the crash of a bedside table, the glass bulb of the lamp that rested on top shattering. Grunting; the squeak of a shoe as it slides across the floor. Keith cannot hear the clunk of a body falling to the floor over the shriek of his mother. A crack so loud, Keith saw white. The house shook with the force of it. Keith heard choking; soft. A second crack, and silence.

Keith’s eyes were wide open, staring past the underside of the worn box spring into nothingness. He did not hear the gunmen depart; he did not hear the sirens approaching.

 

  * · ·



 

Lance squeezed his eyes shut under the bed, attempting to will his heaving chest to still. He heard the gentle patter of socked feed on hardwood; three pairs, belonging to his siblings.

“Come out, come out, where ever you are,” sang the soft voice of their mother from the bedroom hallway. A giggle came floating from the warn chest at the foot of the bed; a family heirloom. A screech, shrill with joy, as the youngest Sanchez was lifted from her hiding place; mother and daughter in a warm embrace.

“I wonder where they can be hiding,” the head of the Sanchez clan mused, a wicked grin on her face, making her way across the room. The eldest was found behind the drapes; the next in line was found laying in the bathtub. Before long, Lance could feel manicured nails ghost up the soles of his feet; with a squeal, he tucked his legs and pulled himself from the dark under-bed into the soft afternoon light filtering through bay window. Before he could get far, his brother tackled him into the bed, their siblings falling on top. Laughter filled the room like a song.

 

  * · ·



 

Keith’s school counselor told him he was oppositional and defiant because he was traumatized from witnessing the murder of his parents. Keith figured he did not witness anything, aside from the dance of swirling dust from the dark under-bed and some indistinct, muffled sounds. Despite the different theories of reasoning, it could not be argued against that Keith was a troublemaker. At the end of the day, the seventeen-year-old usually found himself sitting on uncomfortable benches, waiting on the dean or a booking officer, often with dried blood on his knuckles, caked in the ridges of his dried skin.

Keith heard the distinct click of Dockers on the linoleum floor of the classroom hallway. He felt dizzy, quite suddenly, but willed his breath to slow. He met the school dean’s gaze with a heated glare. The dean did not crumble beneath it.

“Keith, we have tried out best to accommodate you and your,” a pause, as the dean glanced over the National Parks Foundation National Parks calendar mounted on the wall with a grimace, “unique situation.”

Keith resisted a huff, dedicated to maintaining his glare. Unblinking.

The dean cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, I don’t think there is much our institution can do for you.”

Silence, unblinking.

“We are prepared to refer you the Roswell Academy, a school well accommodated for troubled youth such as yourself – ”

Keith did not resist a huff. He stood with a stretch, his back-popping audible. The dean flinched.

“I’ve got a better idea,” he drawled, in a timbre not far off that of his father, “why don’t you go fuck yourself.”

No one stopped Keith from walking out the front door, mounting a hover bike the owner had the misfortune of forgetting to lock in place, and riding off.

 

  * · ·



 

Despite being in the middle of a desert, Lance found himself shivering in his dorm. His roommate, Hunk, was passed out on the top bunk, mouth agape no doubt as his violent snores filled the room; Lance was reminded of the summer before he left home, when his youngest sister was beginning to learn the oboe. He had wrapped himself up in as many sweaters and quilts he found laying around the room – Lance-urrito, he could hear his mother tease. Absorbed in his own chilly misery, Lance could not hear the distinct click of government-issued combat boots on the ceramic-tiled floor of the dormitory hallway.

Keith’s strides were long and confident as he blazed his way through the Garrison buildings. He had no trouble making it to the facility hangers. At nineteen years, he found himself listed as one of the most competent pilots in the Garrison. Despite still being a student in the training corps program, his commanding officer was advocating to have him put on some reconnaissance missions within the local star systems. Keith was talented with a strong soldier’s intuition, and he knew it. Between that, the pack of supplies on his back, and the safety provisions in the space fighter, Keith had no doubt he could make it to Kerberos, and begin a proper investigation in the case of his friend, Takashi, and his team gone missing.

It was a clear night, the sweeping arms of the Milky Way caressing the inky sky.  He sped through a check of the spacecraft’s fuel and engine before climbing into the cockpit and taking off. For a hot second, Keith felt capable of something great: the twinkle of stars and the stirring satellites on the horizon eliciting a gravitational pull of their own, and Keith was at their mercy.

He hadn’t made it thirty thousand feet about the ground before the patrol force had him surrounded. Harsh orders to land or be shot down filtered through his com; with a curse, he complied.

Keith found himself being escorted by six MP officers to the office of the headmaster, his CO, Commander Iverson. Keith could not hear the cacophony of boots clicking on the marble floor of the administration building over the thud of his heart, his face hot with rage.

He did not salute the commander when entering the office.

“You just left them there!” Keith screamed, charging around the side of the mahogany desk. “You don’t even know what happened, you didn’t even investigate, you don’t even know that they’re dead!” Keith carried on, spit flying from his lips.

Commander Iverson met Keith’s glare head on. “Airman First Class Kogane, you are not authorized to – ”

“That’s bullshit!” Keith’s accusation hung heavy in the room. “You just left them there,” his tone had fallen soft, but was dripping with contempt.

“I do not believe you continue to be a good fit for our institution.” The commander’s words were cold, his stare flat yet piercing; the pride that glowed in them not one week ago had faded, the embers long burnt out. “I will begin the paperwork for your dishonorable discharge come Monday morning.”

Keith felt his lungs deflate, his heart stop. Time had frozen; not even the pristine grandfather clock in the corner ticked as the two bulls remained locked in place, a battle of will.

Keith could feel his brain stutter, _plan B, plan B_ – how could he save Takashi without the Garrison’s resources? How could he find the truth of what happened to his friend, his companion, the only person to fight his way past his walls and make a home in him?

The sun began to peek over the horizon; the walls of the office were washed in a pink haze.

No one stopped Keith from walking out the front door, mounting a hover bike that has seen more bad than good, and riding off.


	2. interlude

I want to take a moment and thank those of you who have read and reviewed this piece, as it currently stands! It means a lot! But I fear I posted this prematurely, and between my job and grad school, it's hard for me to take the time to write for this (but I have something in the works!!!) 

So what I'm going to do is delete the chapter I have so far, and repost with more content after the semester ends (for me, that's early December). 

Thanks everyone for sticking it out <3 I'm very grateful for you readers!

 

Until next time,  
kaelinne

**Author's Note:**

> Alright - tell me what you guys think? :)  
> I wanted to write some more originally for this chapter, but decided to post what I had or else I probably would never post haha.
> 
> If you guys like this, then I'll definitely work on more!


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